


Friday Night, Holy Ghost (Show Me The One I Need The Most)

by The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea



Series: Explore [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Ableist Language, Autism Spectrum, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, These boys sure do internalize, Time period typical homophobia, Trans Character, autism headcanon, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea/pseuds/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea
Summary: The Spy is perceptive; the Sniper wishes he was wasn't.At first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnetheCatDetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Shaving](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008437) by [AnnetheCatDetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective). 



> Hey, here I am with YET ANOTHER WORK. I'm ridiculous. I love trans autistic Sniper. He is amazing. Title is from I Wish I Knew You by The Revivalists.

“Hello there, mon amie,” The Spy all but purred. His knife was drawn, ready to be introduced so simply into the Sniper’s back. But he liked to play with his quarry a little; it was the kind of man he was, or at least the kind of man he presented himself as. 

He reached out a finger and gently, ever-so-gently, traced a line across the Sniper’s shoulderblades. The Sniper stilled. This was new.

The Spy smirked upon hearing a cut-off gasp from the Sniper in front of him. Ah, results. Though the Sniper was trying quite hard to resist, the Spy knew him to be weak-willed in such ways. He’d suspected the Sniper of homosexual inclination for a long time now. 

What he did not expect, though, was the Sniper’s sob. It echoed in the redoubt, giving a tangibility to something the Spy did not understand.

The Sniper pitched forward, recoiling from the Spy’s light touch. He keened low in his throat and scrabbled for his kukri, fight-or-flight hammering at his heart. He felt the Spy pause, almost genteel in his curiosity, and then the knife between his shoulders.

The unpleasantness of the Spy’s touch lingered for hours after respawn brought him back.

\---

Vaughn shed his shirt that night and grimaced a little at the state of his binder. Sweat-soaked, tattered, and a bit bloody at the hem, it was in need of a good wash. So was he, when he got down to it, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to hop into the showers this week while everyone was asleep. The thought of scrubbing himself down with strong soap as quick as he could without looking down was overwhelming.

Everything was overwhelming as of late. The littlest sound set his trigger finger twitching and tingling. He didn't usually consider himself a jumpy sort of bloke, either, not like Scout. That kid could jump a foot when provoked to. 

He sighed and settled down with his rifle,mulling over what happened with the Spy while cleaning it. Bloody spook really got under his skin this time round, hadn’t he? He couldn’t help that pathetic whining in his throat when the Spy ran his fingers across his back--the little rat probably thought he was turned on or something similar. “Christ,” he mumbled aloud, and then, with more conviction, “Fuck.”

No, it had been a long time since he’d been touched, but he wasn’t in need of anything intimate. He’d reacted that way because it’d been unexpected, and then sensory hell had exploded across his brain and he’d panicked, just like when he was a child and having his hair brushed. He’d shout and squirm and kick up quite the fuss, but his mother would sigh and say didn’t little Victoria want to look nice and pretty?

Resting his cheek on the coarse grain of the table helped a bit. Lucky if he didn’t end up with splinters in his face by the end of the night. He already knew it was gonna be one of those nights, where he ended up exhausted and biting the shit out of his hands. 

These days had been getting more and more frequent. 

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up hours later, when he was more than a little drunk… he tensed, staying quiet, as the Spy moved through the tiny space, pausing in front of him. 

“I know you are awake,” he said after a long moment. 

Vaughn grumbled into his hands, then sat up woozily. “Whaddya want,” he slurred, malt whiskey turning his tongue useless, “can’t’cha see ‘m busy?”

The Spy stepped closer, then knelt by his side, frowning. “Mon Dieu, quite the mess you’ve made of yourself… to bed with you.”

His hands slid under Vaughn’s shoulders; he had the sense to try and grab his rifle, but the Spy scoffed and knocked it from his hands. “Mon soûlard, it does not even have the bullets loaded.” Vaughn muttered, “Coulda’ still whacked you with it,” and the Spy could not hide a smile at his sullen tone. 

“Do not pout, it does not become you.” He lifted the Sniper with ease and carried him to the fold-out bed. “Now, sleep. There is nothing to steal worth value, excepting your life… but even that would be ill-advised. Who knows what madman they would replace you with?” 

He placed a hand on the Sniper’s cheek, but the Sniper was already fast asleep.

“Goodnight, then,” the Spy smirked, and left through the window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some more! I am also working on a Doctor Who fic that should be here soonish. :D

When next they met, the Sniper was stealing through the BLU base, looking for something, anything, to use against the Spy. The spook had seen him in only his binder; it wouldn’t be long before he figured out what is was for, and then the Sniper was good as dead. He’d be shipped off someplace remote, or worse, become a medicated dead-head in a facility. 

His dad had threatened him with that when he’d found out he was a trans man. In a fit of emotion-- blasted things, emotions-- he’d gone and called up his parents. His deepened voice was a dead giveaway, and before long, his stutterings were cut off in a low, cold voice telling him not to call for a long while, that he needed help that his parents wouldn’t provide him with. Vaughn hadn’t called again, even when his mother rang his phone.

Click. The Sniper’s ears pricked up, and he whirled to face a knife to his throat. The Spy sneered at him, distaste coloring his features as he looked him up and down. 

“Cleaned up, then, bushman?” Oh. He hadn't figured it out just yet. The Sniper’s shoulders slackened despite the blade at his throat.

“Yeah, we have,” Vaughn answered, backing up just a touch. The Spy followed him easily with the knife. 

He smiled. “So. Let’s have ourselves some coffee-- and not that horrible, cheap stuff you drink. No, this will be elegant.” He gestured with a hand, casual, as if this was all normal. 

The Sniper had no choice but to follow.

\---

Coffee, Sorel thought, was an art. None of that instant garbage would ever find his way into his cup, nor would it be as ridiculously sweet as the Scout made his. His coffee was une noisette, espresso burning the tongue and the careful amount of cream soothing the senses.

He noticed the Sniper looking around with the wary expression of a deer a motioned for him to sit. “Rest,” he suggested. The Sniper pulled up a chair, and Sorel smiled to himself. So cautious.

Soon enough, two cups of coffee were made and sat steaming in front of both men. The Sniper wrinkled his nose, the heathen, but looked pleasantly surprised when it didn’t taste like shit. “Ain’t half bad, mate.”

“Thank you, it is nothing for a man of my talent,” Sorel answered, watching the other man over the rim of his cup. “Speaking of my talents…”

The Sniper stiffened.

“Oh, relax,” Sorel scoffed. “Do you think being a transvestite is the worse secret I have ever seen? No, my friend. I am a man of assassinations, of corrupted government secrets. This is not half as bad.”

He saw the Sniper’s jaw drop as he pretended to study his coffee, stirring it with a teaspoon. When he’d gathered himself, he choked out, “An’ you have the gob of a bleeding songbird. Never met a man who squawked so much.”

Sorel could not stifle a laugh at this, and soon the Sniper began to chuckle, too. Soon they looked like a pair of drunks roaring over a lewd joke, and as Sorel wiped his eyes free of tears, began to think that maybe the Sniper wasn’t all bad. He was interesting, at least. 

The Sniper soon sobered, though. “So you ain’t, like, gonna tell no one?” Sorel shrugged. 

“It is not of their concern. It is mine, only because that is my occupation, and even so, I… I will only know as much as you will tell me.”

Frowning, the Sniper leaned over the table. “An’ what exactly is the price of this? I’m not bloody stupid. I know you’ll whisper somethin’ when I’m not looking.” His voice had become a roiling growl, and Sorel shivered. 

“Mon Dieu, you are handsome when you are angry,” he breathed, and understanding shook the Sniper’s angry expression to shards. “You’re a homosexual, too?”

The Spy grimaced. He had not meant to play all of his cards on the table just yet, but he could not help himself. It was infuriating, the effect this man had on him. “Bisexual, but yes. As for that price you’ve mentioned… well, if you will not take my word at its value--” The Sniper snorted at this, “--then the price you shall pay is one kiss.”

“A-- a kiss?” The Sniper stammered. Sorel smiled at him, tilting his head. 

“Scared, bushman?” The Sniper looked at him, openmouthed, and then his brows came down to rest over his eyes.

“Bloody hell, you talk too much,” he snarled, and pulled Sorel into an angry kiss.

He tasted of the espresso Sorel had made but more than that, he tasted of woodsmoke and cheap cigarettes. It was utterly intoxicating, and locked eyes with him, daring him to continue. The Sniper did not disappoint, teeth roving Sorel’s bottom lip and leaving him breathless. It was only when the Sniper calmed and became gentle, wondering, that Sorel realized his own eyes were closed.

They broke apart, staring at each other.

“That will do,” Sorel said, voice strained, and the Sniper nodded, getting up from his chair and fleeing from the room.

**Author's Note:**

> My twin aloof_introvert runs a tumblr blog called ask-the-autistic-trans-sniper. You all should shoot her an ask or two!


End file.
